


Prosthetic Arms Don't Prevent Murder

by maph



Series: One Arm Short of Mental Stability [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Ball of rage Keith, Comedy, Crippled Keith, Humor, I made myself laugh, Keith Channels Satan, Keith curses a lot, Keith doesn't have a left arm, Levelheaded Lance, M/M, Please stop Keith from committing murder, Swearing, don't throw fake arms at people, flying prosthetics, he has an awful potty mouth, he uses it to his advantage though, like seriously, long winded insults, no shits were given by Keith, or Lance, sunshine lance, you can't tell someone they look like Gollum and expect to get away with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 18:04:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14194641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maph/pseuds/maph
Summary: Normally, Keith was pretty chill about his lack of a left arm, though it did prevent him from doing a lot of things that required two. But did it prevent him from getting into a screaming match with an asshole who parked in the last handicapped spot? Absolutely not. No one, not even the hot employee who was trying to talk him down from murder, was going to stop Keith from bringing the fiery wrath of hell (and prosthetic limbs) down upon this guy.





	Prosthetic Arms Don't Prevent Murder

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that every time Keith refers to himself as nice, positive, or anything like that, he is being _extremely_ sarcastic.

The sun was shining, the birds were tweeting, the trees were rustling, and Keith wanted to burn all of it to the ground. While he was sure the rest of the population would see something wrong with setting the world on fire, he could not find it in himself to care. Keith had been having one of _those_ days. You know. _Those._

 Keith’s terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day had started off with every college student’s worst nightmare; his alarm clock had not gone off. He remembered vividly emerging from his coma-like sleep at around 10 AM, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated for all of point-two-five seconds before he glanced at the clock and realized he had slept two hours too late. And because god clearly wanted him to rot in hell, the class he had accidentally missed had been biochemistry, the one subject he was absolutely horrible at. Wonderful.

 Keith had decided to not even bother trying to make it to class (there were only ten minutes left anyways), and sent his teacher an email saying had been feeling sick that he was pretty sure they _both_ knew was complete bullshit. But instead of stressing about it too much, like the extremely positive person he was, Keith decided to ignore it and prepare for his next class, public speaking.

 He missed that one too. It wasn’t his fault, honest, it’s just things tend to be a bit harder when your left arm is missing from below the elbow. You’d think teachers would be a bit more understanding of that.

 As Keith had exited his trashy apartment and rushed to his dinky, beat up car (no one could blame him though, he was a college student), his day took a sharp, downward nose-dive towards the even worse. Keith. Had gotten. Mugged. It was much harder to fend off criminals when you’re down a limb, if that makes any sense. Kindly note his sarcasm.

 The one upside to his new and astounding problem was that he was a broke-ass college student with exactly ten dollars and seven cents on his person. He was pretty sure the man, a criminal for Christ’s sake, pitied him. Especially when he found out that one of Keith’s arms was fucking plastic. But did it mean he had mercy on the crippled guy? Of course not.

 Keith was pretty sure one’s standards would have to be really fucking low to mug a guy with only one arm. But unfortunately, the criminal’s standards _were_ that low. He snatched the ten dollars and seven cents and ran off, leaving Keith to stew in a cesspool of anger that transcended far above a level that was mentally stable.

But Keith, being the super chill and positive guy that he was, decided _not_ to throw a tantrum in the middle of his building parking lot. Instead, figuring he could do at least one productive thing today, he had went back to his apartment and grabbed his emergency fund that had been previously hidden under his mattress. He had climbed into his car (he supposed the mugger thought he was too broke to even _own_ a car), and drove to the closest grocery store to stock up on comfort food and other essential food products. Like hot pockets.

 Keith considered himself to be a really delightful and sunny guy, but even he just about flipped his shit when he arrived at the grocery store to see that all the handicapped parking spots were taken. But there, close to the grocery store’s entrance, was his saving grace, outlined in fading blue and white. There was one spot left, blessedly only a couple feet from the sliding doors.

 Things really seemed to be turning around. Keith’s attitude brightened and he was just starting to entertain the thought that maybe this day wasn’t so bad, his mood promptly crashed, burned, and kamikaze-ed, taking out everyone in a five-mile radius.

 Someone had just, directly in front of his face, stolen his god damned parking spot right as he was about to pull in. Somewhere in the back of his head Keith told himself that thinking about murder so often was definitely not a sign of a healthy mental state.

 But being the classy, polite gentleman that he was, Keith pulled his car to the side (instead of ramming it into the other car like he wanted), an act that was pretty damn difficult with one functioning arm, and graciously asked the 50-something year old man to move. He even smiled and stuff. Yet when he was ignored and shouldered aside, all thoughts of politeness plunged down the drain.

 And that left him in the situation he was in now, screaming at a middle-aged adult in the middle of a grocery store parking lot. Oh, how the proud have fallen. But if he was being completely honest, Keith was so utterly and wholly done that he didn’t give a single shit. He didn’t even give half a shit. He was going to try to make this guy cry.

 The man roared, spittle flying from his flabby, thin lips as Keith grabbed his arm and twisted him around. “Who the hell do you think you are, kid?!”

“I think I’m a guy without an arm, dipshit!”

“And?”

“ _And_ , you took the last god damned handicapped spot!”

 “You don’t need a damn arm to walk in and out of a store! Stop being a wimp and piss off before I call security over.”

 Keith gaped, at a complete loss for words. Did this guy… seriously just…a wimp? He felt the wrath of Satan himself boiling in his gut. Striding forward, Keith planted himself firmly in the guy’s personal space, leering up at him with a look that could make small children scream. “ _Excuse_ me?  _I need arms to carry groceries you fucking—“_

“Um, hello, is there a problem here?” Keith whipped around, eyes narrowing in preparation to tear into whichever asshole had decided to intervene. If it was another slimy-faced adult, Keith was going to blow a fuse or so help him god. But upon turning around and to see tall, dark, and handsome, all the biting words he had prepared faded out of existence.

 The new guy was clearly around Keith’s age, decked out in the green apron employees of the grocery store were forced to wear. He was lanky, tan, and all elbows, but strangely enough, he made it work. His pupils were a dark, calming blue, wide and full of hesitant curiosity at the situation unfolding before him. Keith noticed his eyes flicking towards his left side, but not a single comment was made about his lack of an arm, and for that Keith could practically kiss him. Wanted to, even.

  Keith followed the worker’s fingers as he brushed his hair (wow, it looked really soft) out of his face before he realized that the guy’s question wasn’t actually rhetorical. It wasn’t his fault that this guy was so cute it was distracting. But unfortunately, the short amount of time Keith had taken to marvel at the store employee was more than enough for the newly dubbed ‘Asshole of the Year’ to explain, in a highly-biased way mind you, the situation.

 “This kid is harassing me about how I parked. Kick him out or some shit.”

 For such an agreeable and friendly person, Keith was really on a roll for losing his shit today. He spluttered, staring at the man with the full rage of a suburban mom who just got cheated out of a spa day. “I—you—what the—“

The employee raised one, sculpted eyebrow. Keith offhandedly noted that his skin clarity rivalled that of gods. He turned to Keith, pinning him with an inquisitive stare. “Is that true?”

 For the sake of this guy’s sanity, Keith tried to keep his cool. He did, honest. Quietly, he regulated his breathing before answering in a strained tone, “No, I asked this guy to leave the handicapped spot because,” he gestured jerkily to his left arm (or rather lack thereof), “I kind of need it. He refused and decided to be a complete asshole—“

 “He _doesn’t_ need it though.”

 And that was the final straw. Volcanoes erupted, bombs were dropped, demons were spawned, and Keith, for a lack of a better word, went _nuclear._

 Whipping around with a vicious snarl, Keith barely, just _barely_ , stop himself from judo-flipping this asshole over his shoulder. His expression must have been damn scary too, because with no small amount of satisfaction did he notice the adult take a cautious step backward. Right hand flying towards the straps that kept his prosthetic in place, Keith undid them in seconds, grasping his arm in his other hand and yanking it from its socket with a sickening pop.

With all the strength Keith could muster, he hurled his arm at the man’s hulking, probably puppy-murdering mass. His aim was true, and Keith’s prosthetic arm smacked the guy forcefully in the face, causing him to let out a bellow of pain, voice and figure resembling that of a wounded hippo. But if he was looking for sympathy, he was in the wrong fucking place, and Keith was nowhere even close to finished with this guy.

 Scooping his arm from the ground he began to wave it threateningly in the adult’s face, prodding the guy in the chest a couple times for good measure. If looks could kill, this guy would be dead ten times over. “You god damn, motherfucking, son of a whore!” A woman across the parking lot gasped loudly and shielded her child’s ears. “You lowlife, Gollum-looking, trash diving, ass-faced, brain dead, plague-riddled, piece of—“

Two, long arms looped under his armpits, pulling him away from the man and effectively preventing Keith from verbally ending his life. The employee let him go once he had dragged him a couple paces away, and when Keith turned to face him, he immediately took notice the large grin on the other's face. He wasn’t even trying to hide it, this guy just kept getting better and better.

 With a wide smile and no real meaning behind the words, the employee, Lance (Keith was now close enough to read his name tag), spoke. “Please calm down, sir, I can’t have you physically assaulting another person on the store’s property. I’ll have this issue fixed shortly.” He turned away from Keith, smile dropping into a cold frown. He addressed the man, whose face had gone so red he looked like a damn bottle of Heinz ketchup. “I’m sorry sir, but without an official document, you are legally not allowed to park in that space.”

 “But I—“

 Lance was absolutely not having it. He crossed his arms and stared coolly at the raging adult. “Please leave before I’m forced to call security.”

 If the adult was trying to do an impression of a horse, Keith thought he absolutely nailed it. Stamping huffily, the man glared down at he and Lance before snorting loudly and storming towards his car, muttering something about “fucking kids” under his breath. The two watched him reverse out of the space and speed away, breaking about five traffic laws in a last-ditch attempt to show how dissatisfied he was at being forced to follow the law.

 It wasn’t until the man’s car was completely out of sight that Keith turned to Lance with a thank you on his lips, fiddling with his arm thoughtfully. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off when the store employee’s attitude did a full 360. Gone was the calm air of professionalism, and in its place was an excited, laughing, beam of pure sunshine and innocence.

 “Dude, that was hilarious!” Lance keeled over, no longer able to contain his laughter. Supporting himself on his knees, he hunched his back, tucking his head into his chest as loud pearls of laughter echoed from his mouth. Keith let out a few chuckles of his own, paying more attention to the way Lance’s eyes crinkled as he laughed.

 “Thanks, I was worried it was a bit much.” Liar, Keith had wanted to see the life in that man’s eyes wither and die.

 Lance waved his hands, still smiling impossibly wide. “Nah, that was amazing. I felt like I was watching comedy central, with the minor exception of me preventing you from ripping his face off. You are a legend, my friend.”

 Keith scoffed, though not unkindly. Lance smirked, gesturing to the name tag pinned to his apron as his posture took on a much more relaxed stance. “I’m Lance.”

 Keith nodded. “Keith.”

 Lance’s lips curled, eyes drifting over Keith’s figure in a way that left him fighting not to blush. He studied him curiously, pursing his lips before speaking in a tone Keith couldn’t identify. “Say, Keith,” he started, “think you could teach me to swear like that?”

 Keith paused, eyes widening in slight confusion. “Uh, sure?”

And suddenly, the ray of sunshine was back, ten times brighter than before. “Great!” Lance grinned. “I get off at work at four.” And without giving Keith any time to respond, he spun around, walking jauntily back towards the doors. Lance flashed a small grin over his shoulder as he disappeared back into the grocery store, laughter echoing in his wake. Keith’s jaw dropped. This guy was _smooth._

 It took him a lot longer to recover from being asked on an impromptu date than he liked, but he really couldn't find it within himself to care. As Keith stood in a public parking lot with a deep blush on his face, prosthetic arm in one hand while he stared at the spot Lance had previously occupied, he decided that maybe, just maybe, today hadn't been so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I'm going to make a series or whatever they're called of the 'Keith doesn't have an arm and abuses his privileges' AU. Think I should?


End file.
